


Dreamers

by Rosie_Rues



Series: The Rising Storm [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-24
Updated: 2006-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Below Alderley Edge, Cheshire, July, 1979. I've drawn on both the legend of <a href="http://www.alderleyedge.org/Wizard.htm">the wizard of Alderley Edge</a> and, for supplementary details, on that of <a href="http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/sleep.html#Warriors">the sleeping warriors of Craig-y-Dinas</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamers

_The wizard took no gold, saying that he did not want it, that gold was of no use to those who sought wisdom, and it had been his contempt of gold which had granted him the greater knowledge and wisdom which he now possessed._ \- from the tale of the sleeping warriors of Craig-y-Dinas

Over the lowlands they went roaring, away from the Edge. The night was warm and resonant around them, humming with the taste of old magic, stirred up like pollen on the breath of the wind. Remus clung to Sirius’ back and gazed on the ghosts of pale horses running around them, fleet on the wind.

If he half-closed his eyes and looked through the moonlight, Sirius shimmered, every strand of hair blue and wild, his skin swirling with shadows, prickling with promises. Remus didn’t know whether to fear him, or urge him out of the sky to lie with him on the dark earth.

It was in his blood, too, tingling like wine or battle, making his breath come fast and his fingers curl into Sirius’ belt.

 _Go,_ Dumbeldore had bidden them, _and study the sleepers. Wake them not, for the sake of all our souls._

Old magic, this, ancient and dangerous, like moon magic and blood. He had been barred at the iron gates, for the sake of the moon that was in his blood, but Sirius had gone on.

Now he cried out, his voice echoing across the sky, and dived down, through the galloping ghosts.

Remus felt them run through him, drawing memories in their wake: _the dragon banner rises; the king rides to Camlann; fallen, fallen, fallen is the dragon’s son!_ He heard the clash of steel in battle and could taste salt and blood on his lips.

Sirius turned to face him, the shadows on his face blue and the rest silver under the moon. “Always,” he said, his voice merging with the hum of the engine, “ _Toujours_.”

“Always what?” Remus asked, and could hear the shiver and texture of the magic in his voice.

“Pure,” Sirius said, pale eyes wide, “of purpose.”

“Yes,” Remus sighed, but they were coming to the ground, swooping over bristling fields with the corn stirring and sighing in their wake. Sirius bent forward again, and they raced on through the night, clinging to the ground. The hedgerows seemed to murmur as they passed and the trees swayed, as if reaching for them, or the memory of other riders, in other times.

As dawn brushed the horizon, the engine died. Sirius flung his head back, breathing in the morning, brushed with light.

The fields stretched around them, golden and whispering.

“We should walk,” Remus said. “Or Apparate.”

Sirius turned to gaze at him, and murmured, “We would return, like the tide.”

“Walk,” Remus said, stretching his arms out to feel the morning. He was afraid to stay still; afraid he would plant roots; that his skin would roughen into bark and his fingers into branches. Such a tree would flower only at the moon, poisonous blooms.

Sirius was moving Marianne out of the centre of the road, with his hands rather than his wand. Then he began to walk on, whispering, “Mark the spot.”

“I have,” Remus said and ran after him.

They walked onwards in silence as the morning brightened around them.

After an hour Sirius said, quite reasonably, “They dream.”

“Who?”

“The sleepers. It’s all their dream.”

Remus nodded. The magic had settled to a slow, golden contentment, settling through him like the warmth of the rising sun.

After another hour they came to a small farm, settled among low hills. A sign advertised that they had a room to let so Remus stopped.

Sirius settled on the step of the farm, gazing back towards Alderley Edge. The air was hazy over the hill, as if stirred by hooves.

“By the hundred they lay under the hill,” he said. “Row on row in their armour, their hair grown wild around them. Such a war it must have been, Moony, such an honest war.”

“But bloody,” Remus said, tracing patterns in the dust, circles over crosses over runes.

“All wars are bloody,” Sirius said.

After another hour the farmwife woke and found them there. Sirius was still and distant, as if he was barely more real than the haze over the hill. Remus did the explaining, aware that his tongue was thick in his mouth, half of him still tangled in old magic.

“Down off the Edge,” she said, leading them inside. “A wizardly place, that.”

“Yes,” Sirius sighed.

She set them in a small parlour and set them a small breakfast before bustling off to put together a room ( _only the one room, dearies, you’ll have to share_ and Remus had said, _That’s fine, just fine._ )

Sirius still seemed too bright for the shuttered room. He put his bacon on Remus’ plate and began to crumble the white cheese, licking it off his fingers so crumbs clung to his lips.

“Row on row,” he murmured. “Sleeping by their comrades. Ever loyal. It will avail him none.”

“Voldemort?” Remus asked, and the name made the room seem cold.

“It was a gift,” Sirius said. “I could feel it in the air. They would have given their lives, but this was more. They gave themselves to the land, for the land. Their lives, their eternities, their souls, all to the land. And they dream, Moony, and their dream is the land.”

“And Voldemort does not understand sacrifice,” Remus said, pushing Sirius’ plate back towards him. “Eat, before you become a dreamer yourself.”

“You’ll wake me,” Sirius said, catching his fingers.

“Always,” Remus said. “Now eat.”

Sirius applied himself to his eggs. Remus sighed in relief.

When he looked up, he was less fey, though still brighter and bolder than he had any right to be.

That was just Sirius, though, and Remus was used to it.

“I rang the bell,” he said, and Remus choked on a walnut.

Sirius came round and hit him on the back, and then let his hands linger, cupped around Remus’ shoulders. Remus leant back against him, looking up.

“Dumbledore told you not to.”

“Dumbledore knows me.”

“That’s why he sent me.”

“I wish,” Sirius said, and Remus put his hand up to cover his.

“No dark creatures allowed. We should have anticipated. What happened?”

“I just touched it, and one of them sat up, and his eyes were all shadows, Moony, creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. He spouts off in some sort of ancient Welsh, and it’s a bloody good thing I had an old-fashioned education or I wouldn’t have had the foggiest what he was on about.”

“What did he say?” Remus demanded.

“Is it the day?” Sirius said softly. “So I racked my brains and said, _Na, na, chysgi_ , which is bloody awful Welsh but the best I could do. He seemed to get the message because he plonked himself back down and went to sleep, and I came out and found you.”

Remus took a deep breath and said mildly, “Please try a little harder not to get yourself killed, Sirius. It would be annoying.”

“Only annoying?” Sirius asked, sliding his hands into Remus’ shirt to press against skin.

“More than, you vain fool,” Remus murmured and rested his cheek against Sirius’ wrist, feeling the last crackle of old magic stirring through the thin skin there. He pressed his lips against the blue vein, and closed his eyes, feeling Sirius tighten his hands, awake and real and warm.


End file.
